Dust Flower
by Merilsell
Summary: Dust is everything Saria Brosca her whole life has known and almost everyone around her in Orzammar had treated her as such. Now risen to the ranks of a Grey Warden, one would think it would be easier for her to return to her old home. But Saria still thinks that Dust Town sticks to her skin, and is all she ever will be. Yet beauty & inner strength prospers in the oddest places...


**_A/N:_ **_This is actually a story I have written for CMDA Santa-exchange 2012, but always have forgotten to post. It is starring my Duster-Warden Saria. Since I love to invert well used fandom tropes, she is the really shy, low-self esteem type, who struggles with her upbringing, but on the other hand can bash a face with a shield quicker than one can say "Salroka" :D _

_Maybe I will write more of her in the future, or maybe it will be one of the many stories remained untold in my head. You know, in favor of a certain, very possessive Dalish Cookie ;) We will see. And in case you missed it, since all the alerts had been bugged, I have also updated OEaH last weekend. __Thanks to** Suilven** for the beta read. Enjoy._

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**Dust Flower**

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The freezing wind howled around her tiny form, swirling up loose snowflakes from the ground, which landed in her copper hair. Normally, this would have been a sensation still noticeable and foreign to her, but Saria was far too sunken into her own mind.

Ever since they had crossed the Gherlen pass and she had felt the familiar, solid stone underneath her feet, she had grown silent. She couldn't wait to see Rica and Leske again; anxious, over the months of her absence, for their well-being. Though now, with the massive mountain towering over them, and the gates of Orzammar tall and high and in sight, she had to fight the feeling of wanting to turn and run away. After all, she had been exiled, and hadn't ever been welcomed here as a Brand in the first place.

Morrigan looked up to the mountain with its signature dwarven stone figures carved into its stone, and frowned. "Are we going to descend into the underground? Having so much rock over one's head is...disquieting."

While Saria struggled to grasp Morrigan's motives and person as a whole, she could understand her hesitation. For topsiders, it must be odd to go underground, just as it had been for her the first time she'd been underneath open sky. She'd clawed at Duncan's legs for fear of falling into the wide, endless horizon. He had laughed, waited patiently for her to regain her bearings, and distracted her for the next hour with a painstakingly description of rain and snow.

The sky still made her queasy sometimes, though by now she had learned to love the sight of the twinkling of the stars in the night, and the light of the sun in the day. How weird it still was to see the light change and alter with the passing hours. Or, the concept of day and night as a whole. In Orzammar, with the flickering golden-red heat of the lava streams, it always stayed the same.

The city that never slept.

"Why, yes, since we need the dwarves' assistance against the blight, we have to go to them," Alistair piped up. "I doubt they will come to you at the snap of your fingers, but I would love to see you _try._"

"You had better be careful I don't set you aflame with the snap of my fingers, moron!" Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him and, with a huff, stalked ahead.

"It likes to rile up the swamp witch, does it?" The booming voice of Shale sounded faintly amused. "I can squish its witchy head, if needed." It looked at Alistair, chuckling. "Or yours. Depending on which is more delightful to crush."

"Greeeat, now after sparing an assassin trying to kill us, we also have a murderous golem in our party. You've really picked up the _best _people, Saria!" The biting sarcasm in his words didn't escape her. He still hadn't forgiven her for the decision to take Zevran along, not to mention the events at Redcliffe. The way he'd yelled at her after leaving the village when they'd stopped to make camp, had made that abundantly _clear_.

"Ah, my dear Alistair," the elf cocked his head and _tsked_, obviously mocking him, "I can assure you, I'm only here to serve our dwarven leader. I have sworn an oath to do so, no?"

"C-can we just m-move on?" By the Stone, she still hated speaking up when her companions were arguing. Saria had never been loud enough to be a leader and had never wanted this role. Back in the Carta, she had left most of the talking to Leske. Which didn't mean she didn't get the job done—often slitting people's throats—but only because she _had_ to. In Dust Town, there had been no other choice than to keep her head down, until the one in power said 'aye' and sent her to whatever gruesome things the task dictated. All for a few coins and a full belly. One didn't ask _why_, or if it was deserved. Not openly. Not if one wanted to _survive_.

Zevran inclined his head towards her, shaking her out of these grim thoughts. "Of course, my lovely Warden. As you wish." She couldn't figure out if he was mocking her as well. Saria had never been good at reading people or figuring out their motivations. Another reason why she had been glad to have Leske at her side. Until Alistair had taken his place instead, explaining a lot of these strange surfacer customs and telling her about the Grey Wardens. She loved his stories and his presence, for he had made her feel less alone after the tragedy at Ostagar in this wide and foreign world. The shared grief for Duncan and all the other Grey Wardens she would never get to know, and the many hours around the firepit, had forged a bond between them.

A bond which was abruptly cut off again, after she had allowed Lady Isolde to sacrifice herself, with what the surfacer had called 'evil blood magic'. Saria sighed, straightening her posture as she exhaled.

There was no point in dwelling on it.

"Yes. We need to show these treaties to the Assembly." She laughed bitterly. "Though, we'd better ask for the way, once we're in. I was never allowed to even get close to that place."

The elf gave her a look that was somewhere between bewilderment and understanding before his expression became a casual mask once again; like Leske's look that she knew so well.

"So, what are we waiting for?"

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**oOo**

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Once they were close to the gates, the group saw a man with two companions standing in front of the Orzammar guards, barking demands. In every second sentence, he mentioned 'King Loghain' and how he was his appointed messenger.

_So, the sodding traitor is calling himself king now?_

Fury accompanied the initial feeling of anxiety in her stomach as she stormed forward. "Let me through. I was born in Orzammar," Saria demanded, without regard for the arrogant human beside her.

"Stone, are you all sodding ignorant? This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time." The guard's gaze shifted to her, annoyed. "And any dwarf who chooses to walk topside chooses to be excluded. So, you have no more right to get in than this human that's been barking on my doorstep for a week already."

"I do." She put her chin up. False bravery, but bravery nonetheless. "I'm here on Warden business. We need the aid of my people against the blight. I need to talk to, err, King Endrin, it was, right?"

Underneath his helmet, his eyes narrowed visibly. "You...are a Brand. Call yourself a Warden, but I remember you being the filthy duster who dishonored the Proving. Trust you to be ignorant of our tragedy. Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. So, Warden or not, you won't enter; not without a _very_ good reason."

Unlike Saria, Leliana seemed shocked by the insults hurled at her. When she'd recovered, the bard rummaged in their pack, pulling out a yellowed, old parchment and handing it to the guard. "We have one. You may want to look at these papers."

"Hmm, well, that _is_ the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it. Grey Wardens and your entourage, you may pass."

"What?" The man beside them blustered and wildly gestured with his arms. "You're letting in a _traitor_? And what was that you said, a filthy brand? In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this... stain on the honor of Fereld–"

The fist hitting his face belonged to Alistair and, considering the ensuing silence, his action surprised everyone. Saria stared at him open-mouthed as he loomed over the human's unconscious form, his voice quavering with undisguised anger and contempt.

"Did you not listen? She said she is a _Grey Warden!_"

Before the messenger's companion could even draw his weapon, her group had already surrounded him and the mage, ready to kill both at any moment. With his sword pointed at a crack in the man's plate, Alistair hissed between gnashed teeth, "I would be _very_ careful with your next steps!"

Looking over, Saria saw how Zevran had twisted the mage's arms behind his back, a dagger at his throat. Shale seemed more than eager to crush both of their heads but, then again, that wasn't much of a surprise to her. Her sword accompanied Alistair's right at the man's neck, the rush of adrenaline enough to let her fall back into her old Carta role. "I know nothing about math, but even I can see you are severely outnumbered, you long legged sucker. So. I suggest you take this arrogant bronto of a human, and be on your way to your false king. ...Or, you die. _Your_ choice."

"Kill each other as you will, but take your sodding fight off my doorstep!"

"No need." Surrendering, the armored giant heaved the unconscious messenger up and turned to leave together with the mage.

"Now that that's settled..." As soon they were out of sight, the scraping of the large gate opening caught her attention. "You are free to enter Orzammar, Grey Warden, though I don't know what help you will find."

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**oOo**

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Despite the fact that only months had passed, the last time she'd walked through these halls felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she'd returned as someone, a Grey Warden, with an important mission and people following her command. Still, the looks in her direction and the whispered insults with an expression of disdain, remained the _same_.

Once a duster, always a duster. One could leave Dust Town, but it would _never_ leave you. That was how things worked here, had been deeply ingrained into the Dwarven culture for centuries, and would never change.

Saria hated it.

Stern looking statues of long dead Paragons, immovable as granite, loomed over them, watching over their every step. A scholar literally spat on the ground she was walking on, the hatred so very audible in his tone. "Step back, Brand. You call yourself a Warden, but the Paragons in this hall should not have to _suffer_ the sight of you."

"It's the brand," she explained to her perplexed companions with a shrug and pointed at her face. Unlike them, the treatment of her people didn't shock her, it was normal. "Once they see it, they see nothing else. In their eyes, I'm nothing. Worse than the dust underneath their feet, even."

Leliana frowned. "B-but, you are a Grey Warden now. Here to help your people...and everyone."

Saria laughed, without humor. "Not to them."

Alistair cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the hostility shown to them. "We, err, the Grey Wardens, have an accommodation in the Noble quarter. I don't know exactly where, but I'm sure someone can point us towards it."

"Or, we simply follow the trail of spit on the ground as we pass them." Morrigan scoffed. "Nice folk, that."

As Saria entered into the Diamond Quarter for the first time in her life, the familiar heat of the lava and stale air of Orzammar surrounding her, the slurred, bitter words of her drunken sod of a mother came back to her mind.

_You can try, but you'll never get it off you. Dust town, it sticks to the skin._

More than ever, Saria feared she'd been _right_.

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**oOo**

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As soon as Saria had stepped through the gates, a squealing, red-haired ball of energy came running toward her and seized her into a bear hug.

"I can't believe it! I heard a dwarven Grey Warden had come to Orzammar and I couldn't help but hope..." Trailing off, Rica took one or two steps back to observe her closer. "Look at you! My little sister, a battle-scarred veteran warrior. You look so good. And so fancy! I've been worrying that we were living in luxury while you were suffering on the road. I'm so proud!"

Saria was completely taken aback, not only by the unexpected appearance of her sister, but also by the place of their surprising reunion. Meeting her _here_ was more than odd. "Rica...w-what are you doing here? This is the Diamond Quarter. If any of the guards s –"

Rica laughed her concern off. "They will give me a friendly nod and see that no harm comes to me. I made it, sister!" She was positively beaming. "As of last month, I'm a royal concubine to House Aeducan. They've moved Mother and me into the palace. And, I wish you could meet little Endrin. But, they don't let me bring him outside the royal nursery yet."

"Y-you are a _mother_?"

Behind Natia, Alistair harrumphed and silenced her words, but not her astonishment. "We, err, better search for our quarters and leave you to your family reunion."

"No, no, don't leave." Before the tall human could move, Rica had already stepped into their path which, considering the golem standing beside her fellow Warden, was quite a brave feat.

"Hmpf, it is unwise to get in my way. I tend to squish the ones who do so."

Rica gawked at the golem, eyes wide and bright. Then, her gaze roamed over the elf, the mabari, the Qunari, then back to Saria, and she grinned. "You are traveling with quite the unusual entourage, sister."

"They are a great help. Without them, I would never have come as far as I have." Saria shrugged, but couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips. It felt good to know that Rica wasn't only safe, but a lot better off than when she had left with Duncan. In the last few months, this had been her major concern; that the sister she loved so dearly might have been hunted and murdered by Javia out of petty revenge for what she had done to Beraht.

"I can show you the way to the Warden quarters, if you like. But, I'm sure we could find a room for you and your friends in the palace." Rica gasped, overjoyed. "Can you believe it? My son is an _Aeducan_. The future king of Orzammar spends his nights in _my_ bed."

"The Warden quarters are fine for now. To be honest, I'm not exactly in the mood to see Mother right now." _Or ever again_, her mind supplied and Saria sighed. "And, while I'm happy for you, sis, this isn't a family visit at all. I'm here on official business. But, I take it she is...okay?"

"Mother is..._Mother_. We have everything we could want now, but... well, you know what they say." Rica shook her head. "You can't leave Dust Town if you always take it with you."

"Yeah..." Saria trailed off, too impressed by the pompous buildings, polished granite and gold, and actually _clean_ streets to hold up a conversation.

As they passed Harrowmont's crier, Rica threw him a look of contempt. "Don't tell me you are going to support _this_ lying snake. Lord Harrowmont always favored Bhelen's older brother, the one who murdered Trian. Bhelen told me everything. How they set him up in order to frame him for the murder."

"I –" Saria honestly had no answer to that, feeling a bit overwhelmed by Rica's fervor. Nor did she know any more about the men than their names. She was unsure if she could even be bothered to care about the social machinations of her old home, but she did care for Rica. So, whoever this Bhelen was, he seemed to be the obvious choice. "I'll need someone to provide us with the troops needed to fight the Blight."

"Bhelen will do that, you will see, once you help him to claim the throne. His first loyalty is to his family. And, now you're part of it. He's even kind to Mother, and you know how hard _that_ is!"

"Oh, how nice." Morrigan arched an eyebrow at the huge building in front of them. Saria couldn't figure out whether she meant the blue banner with griffons on it that was hanging out of the chiseled windows, or if she was ironically commenting upon Rica's gushing over Bhelen. Probably both.

While her companions made no secret out of their exhaustion and steered right into the Warden quarters, Saria remained standing outside with her sister. Or, maybe they had simply wanted to give her some space to talk with her. It was hard to tell. Rica clasped her hands together, her eagerness far from dwindling. "I can take you to Vartag, if you like. He's Bhelen's chief lieutenant. I'm sure he can help you."

Saria suppressed the urge to sigh again. The journey had been long and, above everything else, she was tired. Thankfully, her sister knew her well enough to notice all that without her saying anything. "But, perhaps you should rest first and visit me later. We have _so_ much to talk about." Rica slung her arms around her again, armor notwithstanding. "I missed you, sis. I know you're a Warden now but, to me, you'll always be that little girl toddling around and pulling up on door handles."

"I've missed you, too." Saria smiled warmly at her sister. "It is good to be home again."

Though, in truth, she wasn't sure how much of a home Orzammar still was.

.

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* * *

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The next few days passed by in a hectic blur.

In between catching up with Rica, eventually meeting Bhelen and her newborn nephew, Saria found herself with a pile of endless tasks for the nobility. One of Bhelen's tasks had even led her back to the Proving, where everything had started… with the small, fine difference of her fighting legally as a Warden in a lord's name. Still, the irony of the situation didn't escape her.

Nor the Proving Master, if his glare had been any indication.

A day later, she was once again in the palace, well rested from the incessant fighting the evening before. Bhelen wanted them to clear out the Carta headquarter as their next step in appeasing the Assembly, and Saria already had a bad feeling about it. Since her arrival here, she had neither seen, nor heard _anything_ of Leske. Rica hadn't been able to help her either, and the one visit she'd made to Dust Town had, unsurprisingly, also given her no more information. After all, she knew too well what the Carta did to people who talked too much.

Nodding at Bhelen, she turned and left with Alistair, Zevran, Leliana and her surface dog to immediately go to Dust Town. While the feeling of dread sunk lower in her stomach with every moment, it would only become worse if she postponed the task any longer.

She sighed, pushing the thought of Leske away. "I want you all to come with me. I know the Carta...hideout well enough, and it will be riddled with traps and thugs." Saria turned to both rogues." So, I will need your deft hands to disarm the traps, while Alistair and I..." The dwarf allowed herself a brief smile, as she thought back on how they had cleared out the Proving grounds together the day before. "...do the less refined work."

"Ah, yes. I do indeed have deft hands, my dear. I could prove it to you, even without traps."

Saria knew better than to take his sexual bait, so she simply rolled her eyes. She was almost out the door, all armored up and ready to bash her shield into whatever face was in her way, when a distinctive, slurred voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Well, look at you all fancied up. You find some princeling to give you pretty clothes while you spread your legs for him, like your sister?"

Saria had managed to avoid her mother the past few days which, due to her constant drunkenness, had been no feat of stealth. Even now, she didn't want to turn around to face the woman who had given birth to her, but hadn't even bothered to name her after that. "I'm a Grey Warden now, Mother." Her voice was flat, calm.

"So I heard. Running off to the surface, just like your father." Saria noticed her coming closer and winced at the stench of old sweat, booze, and sick that met her nose. "You think I don't got the right to be happy? You think I don't deserve what everyone else has? You think you deserve them fancy clothes?"

Saria knew her drunken, bitter ramblings all too well, but it had never been in front of her companions. It made her want to turn around, to hurl out all the hatred she felt inside for her, but she wouldn't give her mother that kind of satisfaction. Instead, she felt the tears pricking at her eyes and Alistair's gaze upon her. She didn't know which was _worse_.

"I think, she deserves _far _better than this." Saria felt his gauntleted hand upon her shoulder, which was as surprising as his adamant words. "Let's go."

She let herself be guided outside by him, trying to ignore their looks of pity, and the screaming voice of her mother that echoed in her head even long _after_ they were gone.

"_You're never gonna be nothing but Dust Town. Just like me."_

_._

**oOo**

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Of course, he had been there. Of course, he would dance to the tune Jarvia played.

"_Maybe you forgot, with all that sun blinding you, but there weren't too many options. If you'd stayed here in Dust Town, you'd have done the same as me. I'm sorry."_

Numbly, Saria sunk to the ground, heedless of the dust and dirt underneath her; her armor still covered with blood. _His_ blood. Her vision blurred and she allowed herself this weakness, right in the filthy corner of Dust Town, where she _belonged_.

_Salroka, you stone-forsaken fool. How could you –_

"There you are." She didn't look up, didn't want _him_ to see her in tears, of all people.

"Go away. I don't need your pity."

"Pity?" Alistair laughed out loud, without humor. "No, you have been gone for hours and... I was worried. Though I understand why y–"

"You? _Understand_?" Her grief made her forget her reservations and she lashed out at him, unleashing all the fury and frustration that had piled up in the last few weeks and days. "You know _nothing_! I killed Leske. I killed the man I called my _salroka _for as long I can remember. The man who used my real name, when all the others still only called me 'duster'.; the mockery of a name my so-called mother gave me in her drunken stupor."

He swallowed audibly. "He gave you no other choice, Saria."

"_Choice_." She spat the word out. "I never had one! Even as a Warden, I still get other people's shit done; the stuff they don't want to get their hands dirty with. Only the name has changed; instead of Beraht, I'm running errands for Bhelen now."

"That is not true and you know it." Sighing, Alistair knelt down next to her. "Look, we didn't exactly part on good terms the last time we spoke."

Sniveling, Saria glared up at him. "You _yelled_ at me!"

"Yes, and I want to apologize for that. For everything and more. I was a complete and utter ass."

"Yes, indeed. You were."

"Nice to see us back in agreement." His lips quirked up, but it faded quickly away again. "I'm sorry for blaming you for something you had no control over. In hindsight, I don't know if we would have made it to the Circle and back in time. It is always easy to put the blame on others and, even more, to forget how hard it must have been for you to make such a decision in the first place."

"And my pretty dwarven princess life here in Orzammar reminded you of that now?" She snorted, wiping her tears away in defiance, feeling herself calming down again. At least, for the moment. "Wow, _super_."

No, no, it's not that," Alistair raised his hands, defensively. "I should have told you all that earlier, but I needed time to think," he looked away, his cheeks coloring, "about... stuff and how to best apologize. I even had a rose, but your big slobbering dog, well, _ate _it."

At that, Duster perked up and let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like snickering. Alistair glared at him, which only made the Mabari gloat more. It seemed that they had a history with each other, of which Saria hadn't had any knowledge of.

"A rose? What is that?"

"You know, those colorful, pretty plants growing in the earth. Humans like to give them to another person, mostly when they have screwed up something." Then, a lot quieter, he added, "Or, to a beautiful woman."

"And they rip it out of the earth for this?"

"Pretty much." Alistair chuckled. "Carrying around a whole rosebush tends to become tedious."

"Why?"

"Because it has thorns, and, oh, we are not talking about the rosebush anymore, right? Well, I wanted to give it you, because, well, I screwed up. And, because you are beautiful." He hadn't meant to say that, if his shocked expression was any indication.

"Beautiful? _Me_?" Saria frowned at him. "You are having me on."

"Making fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought." He chuckled. "You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

She sighed, still not believing him. "I don't understand how you... I mean, you are a human and the son of a king. And I'm... _nobody_."

"That is not true!" Alistair shook his head, his gaze upon her warm. "No, _you_ are the reason why I'm here. And, with that, I don't mean Dust Town. I mean, at all. Without you, Saria, I wouldn't have come this far. I wouldn't have been able to go on..." His voice broke. "… after Ostagar. You've helped me so much, even after all you have been through before. I see that now. You... are _amazing_."

"Right." She rolled her eyes, if only to cover up how touched she was by his words. "The next thing you'll be telling me is what a rare and wonderful thing I am to find amidst all the fighting and death."

"Maybe..." He laughed." Or, I will tell you how you are a flower amidst the dust here, but you won't know _when_ I'll say it."

Saria looked at him, a small smile on her lips. "Ah, corny sentiment. Cheesy, but _not_ unwelcome." His words didn't change any of the events that had happened, nor the guilt and grief she still bore so keenly inside but, at least, for the moment, it made it all _easier_. "Thank you, Alistair. For being here. For caring."

Standing up, he reached out a hand to help her up, to get her away from all the dirt and dust. Somehow this gesture was ironically _symbolic_.

"Always."


End file.
